


Melancholy

by Myinnerfangilr



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-10
Updated: 2011-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-08 07:50:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myinnerfangilr/pseuds/Myinnerfangilr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would a vampire do to protect the human he loves? Written for the No Stress Love Fest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melancholy

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt(s): A combination of #19 (My bloody valentine) and #44 (What if Valentine's Day had a different kind of 'heart' for some? Like the beating variety that pulses delicious blood through tempting veins?)
> 
> Warnings: character death, partial nudity, non-explicit sexual content
> 
> Disclaimer: No profit was made from the writing of this story. All creative rights to the characters and recognizable elements belong to their original creator(s) and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note: All my love to Kerrfrano and vampireisthenewblack who pre-read/ betaed this for me and hold my hand while I tried to finish it on time.
> 
> Thank you to naelany and OnTheTurningAway for doing this Twilight No Stress Love Fest on LiveJournal! Check it out: there are some pretty amazing fics there!
> 
> If you can, listen to "Pavane" by Gabriel Fauré while you read this.

Every night, after the dangerous sun disappears, I stand by his house and watch over him. When I arrive, he is generally narrating his day to his parents, all-proud of his last achievements. As usual, his father is faking interest, sipping his wine, while his mother nods absently between bites of her dinner. I taste their boredom in my mouth, so bitter that even his sweet enthusiasm cannot lessen it. She interrupts him after a few moments to inquire about his date for the latest social event of the season. She is referring this time to the prestigious St Valentine's Ball planned in a few days. As his dear mother presents a list of suitable young ladies to accompany him, my boy looks taken aback. His face, still pink from the freezing wind, reddens even more with anguish as he stutters his replies, before excusing himself and half-running to his room.

I leave the window of the dining room, where his parents acknowledge their son's rushed disappearance with light annoyance and ennui before continuing their supper. I follow him upstairs, climbing the nearby tree and silently landing on his balcony, satisfied that the maids have not close the curtains of his bedroom. He is frowning, leaning against his closed door, his eyes fixed on some point on the wooden floor as his despair fills the room. He stays there for a while waiting for his inner turmoil to calm down as he slowly unbuttons his waistcoat. Marching to his desk, he roughly undresses to his undershirt, his clothes flying to the closest chair. He barely takes the time to sit down as he opens his journal and frantically writes in it.

Pouring his feelings onto the paper, he completely loses track of time giving me an opportunity to fully appreciate his beautiful features. His hair is in disarray, rivaling the fire of the chimney with its deep copper tone. His fitting undershirt outlines his lean muscular frame. He is still growing to be a man but no longer looking like a child.

Sighing, he reclines on his chair and lets his head fall backward. Taking a deep breath, he turns his face to the window, his gaze lost in the darkness outside.

My melancholic angel…

A crystalline tear falls from his emerald eyes, slowly descending his cheekbone to his chin. His facial muscle twitches, tickled by this involuntary sign of sadness. With the back of his hand, he erases any traces of his endless despondency, and standing up, finishes undressing. Each garment reveals treasures of creamy skin that I long to caress. His flawless beauty is heightened by the intimacy of the scene: candlelight reflecting warmly on his bare body and welcoming bed sheets tempting me to join him.

I wait for him to lie down and watch him read for a little while, before surrounding him with fatigue, putting him to rest. His head falls back on the pillow; his hands loosen their hold on his book and it slides off his lap. His breath and heartbeat even out, marking the silent night like a metronome, and giving me my cue to enter his room.

I push the balcony door open and step inside. The compelling scent of his blood envelops me as the candlelight flickers under the fresh rush of air. He shivers and crawls under the blankets, covering virginal delights from my gaze.

Refraining my need to expose and touch, I wander around his room. My fingers brush his clothes, still warm with his heat, the books alphabetically ordered on his shelves to note any new acquisitions, before lingering at his desk. Opening his journal, I leaf the pages, discovering his last thoughts, doubts and causes for misery. My beloved is a tormented soul, unable to fit in the role his parents and society have laid upon him as the heir of the Masen family. He despises this life of successive social gatherings, where his merit is judged solely on his birth. He is mortified by his total lack of interest in womankind, guiltily favoring the firm lines of a male body over the supple ones of femininity. He wishes he could enlist in the army, and demonstrate his worth by defending the values of his country. He hopes to travel and discover the world and maybe, someday, to be able to secretly experience the pleasures of a male lover.

I dream to be the one to introduce him to the desires of the flesh, to mold his body with lust, hear his soft cries and aroused pant, his flushed skin against my cold one. Sitting on his bed, I torture myself with furtive caresses and light brushes of my lips on his delectable ones. I breathe over his mouth, and then follow the square line of his jaw to caress his face, neck, and collarbone. Lolling in waves of sleepy excitement foamed with newly born arousal, I whisper sweet nonsense in his delicate ears: how my hands long to caress his body until he is shivering, how my lips ache to capture his precious essence and feel it flowing down my throat, how I dream for him to be mine.

Mine only.

Not Maria's.

I was ordered to study him to determine if he could be a valuable addition to her army. In her war against the Volturi, my dear maker had finally realized that number doesn't quite count, but power does. She is consequently collecting humans with exceptional abilities and believes my ingenious obsession could be one of them.

For a few months now, I have shadowed his life, looking for any signs that would prove her wrong and leave him in peace. Unfortunately, my angel has some promising capacities that would be helpful if he was to be changed: reading minds, seeing any attack before it occurs are powerful weapons during a combat.

I wanted to hide his potential, denying it in front of Maria, but it is too late now. One of Aro's henchmen has shown interest in him, and will soon get to him.

I can either change him, destroying his innocence with the fire of the change and clouding his pure mind with the endless torture of the thirst, or free him from his fatal destiny.

Aro and Maria are both interested by his abilities. But the only power he will ever have is to be killed in a year, once all his newborn strength disappears. Or, if he is lucky, to live through years of battles, being disfigured by scars, with only one thought in his mind: to kill.

I cannot bear it. I know he wants to fight and discover the world, but not like this.

I would rather end his life. I am the only one who can liberate him from this macabre fate. At least, if he has to die, it will be in the arms of someone who cherishes the air he breathes and every single beat of his heart.

My innocent love…

Leaning forward, I press more firmly my lips against his. His mouth opens for me, letting out a soft sigh, intoxicating me with his scent, the aroma of his blood so intense in this close proximity, that I can already taste it. Swallowing my venom, I slowly draw the curves of his mouth with my tongue, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. My beloved unconsciously responds to me, his tongue peeking out to reach mine. His longing fills me as I savor him, teasing, caressing, and enveloping him delicately.

Folding the blankets, I reveal more immaculate splendors that I do not dare to touch. I only permit my eyes to memorize every line of his toned body, as if to brand them in my mind.

Leaning over him, basking in his warmth, I play with his feelings, sending him touches of lust and adoration. His lashes flutter under the crescendo of emotions radiating from me, his skin slowly flushing as his sleepy nipples harden and his soft member gorges with blood and need under my scrutiny. He soon becomes a mess of tense muscles, fast heartbeat and soft cries, offering me his neck, a silent plea to taste him, take him, and free him from his horrible fate.

Confused and aroused, he finally opens his eyes, blinking a few times before settling his gaze on me. And he smiles, ravished by the sight of me. His dazzled expression unleashes all the love that consumed me and I drown him in them. He will feel no fear, as I kiss his lips again, trailing down his jaw to his extended neck. I submerge him in passion as I find the vein, sink my teeth into his flesh and begin to drink his life away. I am so desperate to free his soul from all the hurts of the world that he might suffocate in my lust before even feeling the lack of blood or the fire of my venom.

But the blistering burn spreads in his body, rising among his arousal and nearly shadowing it. Sensual pants become stifled cries of pain, as my hand deadens the sounds that escape his mouth. I cradle him against me, ashamed that he has to enter hell before stepping into heaven. I suck harder, no longer savoring, all my focus on releasing him from his suffering. His pain grows, threatening to take all the space in his soul.

I leave the shelter of his throat and, heartbroken, I see his lashes fluttering like wings ready to fly away to his peace. With a last kiss on his lips, I capture his final breath and snap his neck.

My beautiful angel is forever safe and innocent.


End file.
